Reverence
by inkedrain
Summary: Failed missions aren't common for them, especially not the silver eyed boy, rendering him completely speechless. Normally, Kanda wouldn't bother, but... something about his silence allows him to see a side of the boy he knows all too well. Hell, he may as well be looking in the mirror. "This will turn heads," he thinks to himself. "But I don't care." Yullen.


Allen is unusually quiet today. Legs crossed, he sits near the window, staring at the landscape passing by. Blood seeps out from a large cloth held in his hand, and he grips it hard to keep the pressure, slow down the blood flow. He barely pays attention to it, though. In fact, if it wasn't for the need to hold onto something he probably wouldn't even notice his wounds.

Probably wouldn't tend to them either.

Noise around him doesn't reach his ears. Lavi playing cards with Lenalee and the surviving finders doesn't effect him. Kanda shoving someone aside as he walks down the aisle, probably returning from the bathroom, doesn't even make him look over. The only movement he makes is the steady nibble of his lower lip.

It is a rare occasion for the exorcists to see him so still, and it is a burden they all carry. Losing innocence is not common, nor is it something they want to make a habit out of. And every time it happens, this is the response they get from Allen. No amount of complaining or frequent glances his way ever changes it. He simply sits and waits the entire ride home, save for the occasional trip to the bathroom.

It may seem strange to others, but for Kanda, this is something he can appreciate. Not because he enjoys Allen's grief, but because it is a time where he can observe the boy in his true state. Maybe others are convinced this is an out of character reaction for the young man, but he knows better. Allen puts up a constant front, but with days like today, it has suddenly become impossible. He knows that any word coming out of his mouth would be completely genuine.

And that is why he says nothing.

For Kanda, seeing him like this means he doesn't have to watch the boy be happy, or sad, or … anything. He gets to watch him just be. And in some ways it's more satisfying than any other promise or pledge of allegiance he's ever made to the Order, or anyone.

The swordsman can hear faint whispers and hushed voices, phrases of speculation and even criticism over the boy's response to this loss. It nags at him, not because he particularly cares what they think, but because of how easy it is for them to pass their judgement. Their words won't change anything.

But he stays quiet, because he knows that his won't either.

Kanda heaves a great sigh from his corner of the room, searching the empty seat in front of him for something large and great. And then he gets up, having made a decision. Eyes follow him, but he doesn't pay them any attention. Instead, he keeps moving, until he is standing in front of the window the white haired boy has been staring out of for the last hour. He sits, but he doesn't look at the boy. He looks at his hand.

And then, without warning, he grabs the boy's blood soaked bandages and pries them from his fingers. It earns him a hiss, but he keeps working, replacing the bloodied cloth, not quite sure how gentle he should be, because it will hurt either way.

He doesn't do a whole lot, doesn't reassure the boy in any way, doesn't tell him they can do better next time. He already knows that. What good would stating the obvious do? Instead, he remains calm, and silent, his hands completely steady.

The dark haired man feels several pairs of eyes on him, suddenly, and it occurs to him that all the chatter has died down, and everyone, including Allen, is wearing a look of disbelief. But what's different in the boy's expression than anyone else's, what swims in his wonderful, bright eyes, is a leveled look of gratitude. There are tears on his face, but neither acknowledges them.

Without stopping his work, Kanda takes a moment to turn his head, addressing each and every one of the invasive stares aimed at them.

"What the fuck are you all looking at?" he demands.

All at once, as if they rehearsed it, they immediately look away.

* * *

a/n; i have a thing for failed missions, it seems…

this is just something short i wrote while trying not to die over my stress of finals. still getting used to writing consistently. i hope you liked it!


End file.
